


Ringed

by gmariam



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Alien Tech Gone Wrong, Alien Technology, Humor, M/M, Tentacles, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 10:35:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15839475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gmariam/pseuds/gmariam
Summary: Owen, Ianto, and a set of rings. WIth wings. And maybe tentacles.





	Ringed

It is Owen who gets them into trouble. As usual.

Ianto knows better. He usually holds his own with the abrasive doctor, whether by simply ignoring him, shooting him, or taking him down with a single, well-timed retort. Yet something has gone wrong this time, and now Ianto is laying on his stomach in the back seat of the SUV, trying not to laugh at their predicament, when he should be far more worried or upset.

Ianto has wings.

Even better: Owen has tentacles.

Ianto glances up front and is unable to hold back a snort at the sight. Owen is driving one-handed, his other hand working furiously to bat away the undulating appendages he clearly has little control over. The doctor swears, slaps another one, and flips Ianto two fingers over his shoulder.

"Can you put those things down?" he grumbles. "I can't see a damn thing out the back."

Ianto bursts out laughing—god, how ridiculous is his life most days?—and twists his head to glance up at the wings filling the back seat of the SUV. Between Owen's gelatinous tentacles and his own black and white feathers—complete with striking blue highlights—Ianto can't help but feel that he's got the better end of whatever the hell has happened to them. The feathers brushing against his shoulders are soft, almost beautiful, and he wonders if he can fly.

"Oi, teaboy!" Owen curses at a wandering tentacle. Stroking his hair as if it has a mind of its own, it's both repulsive and fascinating. "You call Jack yet?"

"Calling now," Ianto murmurs, taking a deep breath to hold back any more laughter threatening to escape. He wonders if there may be a hint of hysteria in it as he taps his earpiece and waits for Jack to answer. Perhaps he's going into shock.

"Ianto!" Jack's voice booms in his ear, and Ianto can practically hear the grin in it. "How did it go? Find anything interesting?"

"You might say that," Ianto replies, smirking to himself. Jack is going to love this, absolutely  _love_  it. He won't be able to stop laughing, and probably staring, and Ianto knows there will all sorts of glorious, disgusting tentacle jokes, after which maybe Jack will want to explore Ianto's new—

"Ianto?" Jack asks, and Ianto shakes himself from a reverie of completely debauched thoughts. Focus. He has wings and he probably shouldn't. Owen has tentacles and that's more wrong than Weevils in boiler suits.

"We're on our way," Ianto replies. "We've got some things for Tosh to look at." He pauses before he signs off. "And a good story."

Actually, it's a absurd story, and Ianto has to admit he's more than slightly embarrassed by it. They'd gone out on a retrieval to collect something small on the banks of the Taff. At first, they'd found little more than old fags and empty bottles, left behind by whatever kids had been smoking and drinking by the river that weekend. Soon enough Owen had spotted else something nearby.

There were several gold rings laying in the dirt, thick and unadorned aside from a single colored gemstone set in middle of the wide band. They looked more like costume jewelry from a cheap medieval play than advanced alien tech, and Ianto wondered if they should go to a junk museum instead of the archives. Owen, however, seemed fascinated, and picked up a ring set with a glittering red stone.

"My precious," he said, pretending to stroke the heavy gold like a power-crazed anti-hero. He turned to Ianto with a grin. "Think it will make me invisible?"

"We can only hope," Ianto replied. "Let's get them in the box, before they summon the Dark Lord or something." He started collecting the others, picking up a ring with a blue stone. It was rather attractive, almost mesmerizing with its aqua sheen…

Owen was staring at his ring, as if it were indeed whispering to him in the black tongue. Before Ianto could stop him, the doctor wagged his eyebrows and slipped it onto his finger. There was a bright flash and Owen fell to the ground in a heap. When Ianto blinked away the blinding light, he saw Owen surrounded by half a dozen rippling pink tentacles. Coming out of the side of his chest.

Owen sat up and groaned, then tried to stand but lost his balance and fell flat on his face several times. Ianto set aside a dozen insults, gazing instead at the ring in his hand, the brilliant blue gem calling out to him. When Owen was steady, he motioned at it. "Go on. Let's see yours, then."

He tried, he really did. He literally felt his muscles resisting, and yet his hand continued to move. The ring slipped onto his finger…there was a flash of light… an excruciating pain ripped through his back that was over before he could even yell. He found himself on his hands and knees, with a pull in his shoulders and a ruffling sound that told him immediately what had happened.

"Bloody hell," said Owen. "You've got wings. I get fucking tentacles, and you get strapping black wings."

Ianto tried to stand and staggered around trying to find his balance, even more than Owen. He almost toppled into the river, until Owen grabbed his arm—or rather, one of Owen's tentacles grabbed his arm and pulled him back. He leaned against a tree, breathing heavily from the unexpected strain of feathers and muscle now jutting from his back.

"This is not normal."

"No shit, Sherlock," Owen snapped. He slapped a curious tentacle away from his face. "What the hell is going on? What are these things?"

"Party trick?" Ianto suggested. He glanced at his ring and tried to tug it off, but it wouldn't move. Neither did Owen's.

"Apparently it's a permanent party trick," the doctor muttered. "Bloody hell."

"We'd better get back to the Hub before anyone sees us," said Ianto. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the large rip in his favorite pinstripe. Yet another Torchwood reimbursement form to submit to himself for approval; maybe he'd upgrade to that herringbone he'd been eyeing at John Lewis. "Especially like this."

Ianto had the keys and tried to get into the driver's side, fully intending on stuffing Owen in the back so he didn't muck up the front seats. After five attempts to get his wings through the door, he gave up. Owen watched impassively as Ianto slammed the door and let loose an impressive tirade of Welsh curses, after which the doctor smirked, Ianto grinned, and suddenly it was the most hysterical thing ever.

After five minutes of laughing until tears rolled down their faces, Ianto had thrown himself stomach down into the back seat, still snickering. Owen had poured himself into the driver's seat, gamely battling the tentacles intent on turning on the wipers, signals, and radio all at once while opening the windows, clicking the door locks, and caressing Owen's neck.

Ianto finds it highly amusing, for the middle left tentacle has become very protective of the radio, slapping the others away as it bounces happily to the beat of Billy Ocean. What the hell is Billy Ocean still doing on the radio? Ianto drops his head and concentrates on the feel of the wings on his back instead. He may be with Torchwood, but even he can't believe they're actually real.

He woke up that morning fully human, curled up next to Jack in his bunker—now what is he? Some sort of birdman? Does that come with a capital letter and a mask for fighting crime? He wonders what type of wings he's sprouted—raven? Crow? Magpie? He does like hoarding shiny things in the archives. Maybe they are plover wings, or woodpecker. A swift might be interesting, a puffin not as much. He's surprised at how many birds he's able to name; did his new avian insight come with the wings?

A tentacle pokes one of the wings and he shakes it off, like he would someone placing an unwanted hand on his shoulder. Maybe he'll be able to gain some control over them after all. Owen huffs at him. "I'm trying to keep the slimy buggers off the steering wheel," he says. "Don't want them driving us into a tree or something."

"If you can molest my wings, you're obviously gaining control," Ianto points out. "So don't let them drive us into a tree."

"What if it's like that guy in Spiderman, the one who ended up with metal tentacles fused to his spine and went crazy?" Owen asks. He sounds more curious than scared of being taken over, though.

"Then you'll have to wrestle control from them to save the world from your own nuclear experiment," Ianto replies. "Are we there yet?"

"Pretty close. Think you'll be able to get through the door?"

"Think you'll be able to use the loo without fondling yourself?"

"Sod off, Donald," the doctor throws back. He's clearly off his game if his best insult is nothing more than a fluffy Disney character without pants.

"These are obviously not duck feathers, Owen." Ianto tells him exactly why, detailing everything from various types of birds with black and white wings to an extended explanation of how wing feathers differ from tail feathers, contour feathers, semiplume and filoplume.

"How the hell do you know all that?" Owen sounds both impressed and annoyed. Ianto admits he is slightly confused by his own voice.

"I have no idea. Side effect of the ring, perhaps?"

"It gave you in depth knowledge of birds to go with your wings?"

"Better than becoming a wraith. Maybe I'll be able to learn how to use them and fly south for the winter. What do you know about tentacles?"

Owen rattles off several mindless and disgusting facts about his tentacles (octopi don't have tentacles, they have arms that continue to respond to food after they are cut off), earning an attempt at applause from two of his semi-sentient appendages. He is silent for a moment. "This is fucking weird."

"Do warn me if you're going to start shooting ink. Are we there yet?"

"Pulling in now. And the ink comes from their arse." They enter the garage below the Millennium Centre, park the car, and stumble out with their biological oddities tripping them up like two drunk clowns at the opera. They make it to the Hub, where they find their coworkers standing on the stairs gaping at them. One looks shocked, one looks curious, and one looks…well. It's obvious what Jack is thinking about. Ianto isn't sure whether to preen like a peacock or cover himself.

"Don't say it," says Owen, tentacles flailing around him like a gross parody of Medusa. Gwen's eyes couldn't possibly get any wider, and but Jack's grin grows exponentially.

"I've died and gone to heaven," he says. Owen throws all eight appendages in the air with a frustrated huff and stumbles down to the autopsy bay, swearing under his breath.

"Coffee?" Ianto asks in a normal voice. He walks slowly and carefully, projecting all the dignity he possibly can with six feet of feathers following him around. Jack crams a fist in his mouth; Tosh rolls her eyes. Ianto starts a round of coffee and finds the bourbon hidden in a nearby cabinet. It's well after noon, and he needs something stronger.

"What happened?" Tosh asks when he returns. He sits down gracelessly in a nearby chair—the extra weight on his back pulls him down with an unexpected grunt—and lets his head fall back. Looking up, he sees black, white, and brilliant blue feathers ruffling above him and adjusts himself so as not to crush them.

"I have no idea, other than it was definitely related to this." Ianto holds up his finger, where the blue gem twinkles merrily, as if it's done nothing wrong.

"It's a ring," Gwen says, frowning at it.

"Your powers of observation are exceptionally keen," Ianto responds. "We found five of them."

"And you put it on because—?" Tosh leaves the question open. This is the hard part to explain.

"They seem to create some sort of compulsion," he admits. "It was strange—Owen had already put his on so I clearly saw what happened to him, yet I couldn't quite stop my own hands from moving. Or I didn't want to stop them. Or the part of me that wanted to stop couldn't stop the part that was sickly fascinated by it."

"A low level hypnotic field, maybe?" Tosh suggests. "Should be easily neutralized."

"I've already got the ring on, Tosh," Ianto points out. "And it won't come off."

"What?" Gwen's voice goes high. "You can't get it off?"

"I believe that's what I just said," he replies. "Do you think it was easy getting in the car like this?"

"How did you manage?" Tosh asks.

"Owen drove, albeit it worse than usual, and I laid in the back seat listening to eighties pop music." Jack has been strangely silent. He is gazing at the containment box they brought in, as if the rings are calling to him. "Jack?" he asks. "I think we should let Tosh neutralize them."

Jack turns, hands tucked into his pockets, that grin still on his face.

"I've seen these before."

"You have?" Gwen asks, though why she is still surprised after working with Jack for so long, Ianto doesn't know. It's like she clings to her naiveté as a security blanket.

"Of course you have," Ianto murmurs, adding an eye roll for Jack's enjoyment.

"What are they?" Tosh asks. "Are they safe?"

"It's a party trick," Jack says. "And yes."

"I knew it!" Ianto exclaims, feeling stupidly victorious.

"You are fucking kidding," Owen grumbles from behind him. He's somehow managed to tie each set of tentacles together, so that instead of six limbs flailing everywhere, there are now two limp sets of tentacles drooping at each side. Ianto feels bad for them, as if they've been captured, or are about to be chopped off for dinner.

"They're great for costuming, too," Jack says. He reaches into the containment box, ignoring everyone's warning. He takes out the ring with the green stone, his eyebrows knitting together. "The Force is strong with this one," he murmurs. Then he winks and puts it on.

One bright flash of light later, and Jack is sporting horns.

"Bloody hell," says Owen, his vocabulary reverting with shock. "I should've picked green!"

They are not large horns—antelope, maybe, or a kudu—but then Jack twists the ring and suddenly he's got a full rack of reindeer antlers. Gwen steps back. He twists it again and it's bison horns, then a giraffe, then a stag. Ianto is grinning as he glances down at his ring.

One twist and the wings shimmer—and that's how it feels, too, like a magical shimmer—to white. A swan, perhaps? Then to the brilliant red and green of a cockatoo. Then a hummingbird, and an ostrich. Then back to his first, which he's grown fond of. It's a hawk, he realizes.

"Go on," Ianto says to Owen, throwing his words from the riverbank back at him. "Let's see yours then."

"Anything's better than these slimy gits," he mutters. The tied-up tentacles shimmer into starfish arms, then dozens of jellyfish tentacles, and then he's a squid.

Owen is a squid. Ianto's not sure how much better his life can get as he doubles over laughing. And then he smells the coffee, and he's ready for a shot of bourbon.

"Coffee, Squidward?" he asks. He's been waiting to say that since the moment back at the river when Owen stood up with tentacles and fell on his face. Gwen and Tosh bite back more giggles. Jack laughs loudly, twists his ring, and looks like a moose.

"How the hell do we get the rings off?" Owen grumbles. "And yes, I want coffee. Lots of it."

"Twist it the other way to release the initial transformation mechanism and give it a few seconds to pull the nanites back into the ring."

"Nanites?" Ianto asks. Owen twists, waits, and then he's tentacle free. He rips the ring from his hand and dumps it in the containment box.

"That's how they work," Jack says. "It's incredibly advanced nannite technology, 72nd century."

"That's five thousand years in the future!" Tosh exclaims.

"How did you learn about them?" Ianto asks. He's tempted to take his ring off, but Jack is still wearing horns so he leaves the wings. It's hard to move, but a part of him wants to get used to them, see if he can fly. And he likes the way Jack keeps eyeing them.

"Time Agency parties," Jack says. "We had everything, from Roman togas to Manussan champagne to these babies." He wiggles his finger. "Fun, huh?"

"Right," Owen grumbles. "Coffee?"

"Can I try?" asks Tosh. She plucks a yellow ring from the box and slips it on. Jack catches her before she falls over, two long and floppy rabbit ears popping out from her head, making her even more adorable.

"Gorgeous," he says, petting her with a grin. "Last one's yours, Gwen."

She glances at the rest of them, shrugs nervously, and takes the orange ring. A long, fluffy tail appears behind her. She turns several times trying to get a glimpse over her shoulder.

"I'm a cat!" she exclaims.

"Coffee," says Owen.

Ianto laughs with the rest of them as he attempts to walk back over to the coffee station. It may be wishful thinking, but he feels like he is getting used to the wings. He gives them an experimental flap and accidently knocks over a chair before two hands reach out to steady him, fingers running through the feathers. And he can feel them, every inch of them, every caress of every vane, barb, and shaft and oh god it's—

"Erotic," Jack murmurs in his ear. "And sexy as hell."

"Why am I not surprised you'd think that," Ianto murmurs back.

"Because you think the same thing," Jack replies. "We need to explore the possibilities of these rings."

"Tonight?" Ianto suggests, a shaky hand pouring out the first cup of coffee. He wonders if real birds get this turned on by petting. Jack glances over his shoulders and begins helping him prepare the other cups.

"I don't think I can wait that long, can you?" Jack is still speaking softly so the others don't hear them. Ianto is fairly sure they know exactly what is going on at the coffee station.

"I'm not sure I'd fit in your bunker," he replies. "But there's plenty of room in the archives."

"I'll meet you down there," Jack says, finishing his own coffee and preparing a cup for Tosh. "Say, ten minutes?"

"Ten minutes and counting," Ianto murmurs, meeting Jack's smirk with one of his own.

They bring coffee to the others, complete with bourbon, and share a toast to the insanity that is Torchwood. After a few sips, Ianto twists his ring and feels the wings dissolve. It is an odd feeling, like he's lost half his body weight. His balance is off again.

"I'm going downstairs to see if we've come across anything like this before," he announces. "Top off as you need, pot's full."

Jack winks at him and Ianto grins over his cup before he turns to leave. He hears Owen groan behind him, but keeps walking.

"You two couldn't make it any more obvious, you know," he says.

"What's obvious?" Gwen asks.

"Wing porn," Tosh stage-whispers. Ianto always knew she was far less innocent that she looks.

"That's a great idea, Tosh," Jack says, and Ianto is sure he's winking when the girls laugh. "Imagine the possibilities."

"No thank you." Owen scowls as the girls laugh. "I've had enough for one day."

Ianto, however, is just getting started and more than willing. He can imagine many possibilities and wonders if he might get a hold of Owen's ring for even more. Jack's told too many stories about tentacles for them all to be made up. And if they are, maybe Jack needs to experience them for real.

It is Owen who gets them into trouble, as usual. It is Jack who encourages it. But it is Ianto who, deep down, loves every minute of it—wings, tentacles, and all.

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is my 100th Torchwood fic! Yay!
> 
> For Avaantares, for no reason other than this came into my head whilst chatting about something completely different and I ran with it. Now I can cross wingfic off my TW bingo card. 
> 
> I had every intention of posting a chaptered fic for my 100th, but it's not nearly ready and won't be for a while. So instead of tragic Janto, I'm posting a humor fic for my 100th, and not just any kind of humor, but one bordering on crackfic. Because wings and tentacles tend to do that. And yet - it's canon. All canon. But don't take it too seriously. Thank you for reading - enjoy!


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